The Irani chai flowed down the mug into the glass, and back into the mug, jumping, being rocked back and forth, as if on a tree swing, as I eyed it intently. The foam was brimming out of the age old glass and the aroma diffused dancing in the air. It's been long I had been in Hyderabad. Ravi's chatter was running since we got down the bus. I barely listened for I was busy looking out at everything new and interesting. He paused and punched my arm. I looked up at him, his face animating a question mark.
"You want to come back?” he asked, the second time, I guess.
"Where to?"
"Hyderabad, of course, after all this Telangana thing?"
"Yes, I love Hyderabad." I replied with a surge of confidence.
I was back on my way in the bus and I turned on the radio. Earphones in my ears, staring out into emptiness, the little ticket wrapped into a ring to my thumb, I thought. "Am I going to come back to Hyderabad?" the question ringed in my mind. I wished it had been a yes. I had a doubt deep inside. What had happened to my city? Where was all the life? The kites were still flying high, but who snatched its sheen?
Telangana was the answer.
I know it very well. It's like seeing a girl, a beautiful innocent adolescent girl, growing into her teens. A perfection. A God's gift. She was the only daughter of a couple, the two parents being, mother Telangana and father Andhra. The city was a legacy of Nizams. When she was born into the house of India, she was full of glamour. She had everything. Yes, she was born smart, beautiful and splendid. She was glorious.
Her father took her life in his hands. It's been many years since, he considered, no wait, assumed her to be his own. He cared for her. He earned to buy her gifts. He loved her. He gave her everything she wished for. Even those comforts that he himself did not enjoy were sacrificed. He gradually gave up helping his wife live. The marriage was not out of liking. It was a union, just because the father couldn't have a kid and the mother couldn't earn a living. The child grew beautiful and great. The mother grew old and dull.
It should not have been so, but it did. The mother wants her daughter. She had been born to the mother. She is her sole property. The father offered to care back, but it was late. The fury mother raged. She wanted her daughter completely. She locked the beautiful daughter in the prison of movements, and the daughter sobbed. Her hair dishevelled, her cheeks shrunk, her happiness gone.
The father was separated from the daughter, he was in tears with what his wife did. The wife was upset that now his daughter doesn't look like she was. And I mourn at the loss of the adolescence to sheer jealousy. Father did a mistake, he should have not ignored the wife, for whatever the reason be. The mother did a mistake, she should have seen that he was spending every penny of his in making his daughter more able. And so my city lies today.
The kite still flies, but the thread is bound to a branch. The chai still bubbles, the aroma is nowhere around. The buildings still soar high, there isn't quite enough market and companies to lease them.
"You want to come back?” he asked, the second time, I guess.
"Where to?"
"Hyderabad, of course, after all this Telangana thing?"
"Yes, I love Hyderabad." I replied with a surge of confidence.
I was back on my way in the bus and I turned on the radio. Earphones in my ears, staring out into emptiness, the little ticket wrapped into a ring to my thumb, I thought. "Am I going to come back to Hyderabad?" the question ringed in my mind. I wished it had been a yes. I had a doubt deep inside. What had happened to my city? Where was all the life? The kites were still flying high, but who snatched its sheen?
Telangana was the answer.
I know it very well. It's like seeing a girl, a beautiful innocent adolescent girl, growing into her teens. A perfection. A God's gift. She was the only daughter of a couple, the two parents being, mother Telangana and father Andhra. The city was a legacy of Nizams. When she was born into the house of India, she was full of glamour. She had everything. Yes, she was born smart, beautiful and splendid. She was glorious.
Her father took her life in his hands. It's been many years since, he considered, no wait, assumed her to be his own. He cared for her. He earned to buy her gifts. He loved her. He gave her everything she wished for. Even those comforts that he himself did not enjoy were sacrificed. He gradually gave up helping his wife live. The marriage was not out of liking. It was a union, just because the father couldn't have a kid and the mother couldn't earn a living. The child grew beautiful and great. The mother grew old and dull.
It should not have been so, but it did. The mother wants her daughter. She had been born to the mother. She is her sole property. The father offered to care back, but it was late. The fury mother raged. She wanted her daughter completely. She locked the beautiful daughter in the prison of movements, and the daughter sobbed. Her hair dishevelled, her cheeks shrunk, her happiness gone.
The father was separated from the daughter, he was in tears with what his wife did. The wife was upset that now his daughter doesn't look like she was. And I mourn at the loss of the adolescence to sheer jealousy. Father did a mistake, he should have not ignored the wife, for whatever the reason be. The mother did a mistake, she should have seen that he was spending every penny of his in making his daughter more able. And so my city lies today.
The kite still flies, but the thread is bound to a branch. The chai still bubbles, the aroma is nowhere around. The buildings still soar high, there isn't quite enough market and companies to lease them.